


Just A Shot In The Dark

by mooniemurphy



Category: Deaf West Spring Awakening, Spring Awakening - Sheik/Sater
Genre: Abuse, Bisexual Hanschen Rilow, Child Abuse, Depression, Everyone in Spring Awakening is gay or bi or pan, F/M, Gender Fluid Hanschen Rilow, Growing Up, Hanschen Is Not Always an Ass, Idiots in Love, Kissing, M/M, Sexual Abuse, Sexual Content, Suicidal Thoughts, Trans Ernst Robel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2019-01-07 22:04:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12241512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mooniemurphy/pseuds/mooniemurphy
Summary: Otherwise titled, "Five Surprising People Hanschen Rilow Has Kissed, and The One Everyone Saw Coming".





	1. Martha Bessell

**Author's Note:**

> 5+1 fics are my favorite.

  1. **Martha Bessel (Eighth Grade)**



H anschen Rilow was the first person to know about the abuse Martha suffered at the hand of her father. Not because the two were astoundingly close; they weren't. They were part of the same group of friends that had basically been born and raised together, but Martha was closer to his little sisters, Thea and Melitta, being closer in age to them than she was to him. But Martha and Hanschen had never had any resounding issues, despite Hanschen's resounding issues with pretty much everyone and everything, even at thirteen, and only in eighth grade.

Martha was twelve at the time, in seventh grade, which made the news of her abuse all the more disturbing to Hanschen, whose little sisters were only a year younger. In fact, he found himself sick to his stomach upon seeing the welts that marred her dark skin, the way her pretty eyes welled up as he looked at them.

Years would pass, and he would never know why he was the first person she told, grabbing his arm to keep his attention and signing urgently, desperately, begging him to keep it between them. He wondered if maybe he was the first test, and she was preparing to tell someone else (He would find out later that it took her another year and a half to tell anyone else). But he never asked her to confirm or deny the theory.

Somehow, in eighth grade, at thirteen years old, Hanschen already found himself with the weight of the world on his shoulders for more reasons than he cared to go into with anybody, even Martha. He and Martha were sitting on the roof of his house, that could be easily accessed from his bedroom window, watching the moon. They were alone; Thea and Melitta were sleeping over at Wendla Bergmann's house, one of Hanschen's classmates, and his parents were at some business conference of his father's.

The moon looked misleadingly peaceful, a quarter full, and bright in the clear sky. It was pretty, which was nice, but it did nothing to dampen the things that had been revealed that night. They'd been sitting in complete silence-- nothing new, really, as all of their conversations took place in sign language; Martha was deaf. But many long minutes had passed, dragging out with no attempt at communication after she had pulled up the sleeve of her dress to show him the welts on her arm.

And then she shifted a little, sliding closer to him on the roof and laying her head on his shoulder. Hanschen's first instinct was to tense; much like Martha, physical contact had not always been a great thing for him, but he figured she probably needed the physical reassurance more than he wanted not to be touch, so with great effort, he forced himself to remain still. 

"Thank you, Hanschen," she signed carefully, once she knew he was watching her hands, and Hanschen exhaled sharply through his nose, grateful she couldn't hear the clear exasperation in it.

He didn't know what he was being thanked for. He couldn't do anything about it, couldn't help her, was shit at offering comfort, because he was little more than an asshole. He couldn't get her out of the situation, couldn't make it stop. There was nothing to be thanking him for; he wasn't doing anything.

In the back of his mind, he knew it was just for being there and not shying away when she needed someone. It was that she'd trusted him with this secret she'd been keeping, and he had let her, despite them not being terribly close. Until that night, she had only known him as Thea and Melitta's asshole, protective older brother. Maybe that had always been enough. He really didn't know.

"Don't thank me," Hanschen signed back after a few moments of nothingness, of not knowing what he was supposed to say in response, his eyes finding the moon again. "It's no burden to me to be here for you."

Martha looked at him, and he looked back to see her response, and there was something unidentifiable in her pretty, dark eyes. And then, before he could really react, or even consider what she was about to do, she was kissing him. It was little more than a brush of lips, soft and light, something sweeter and softer than he had ever associated with kissing before (Hanschen had his own fair share of skeletons, too). So he let it happen, lingering for just a bare moment as his eyes fluttered shut.

For one of very few times in Hanschen's life, especially on into the future, it stopped there, no attempt to be anything more, or anything beyond. And that was okay. Something in Hanschen's heart twisted for a moment with something that he couldn’t identify, because he had never felt it before, and wouldn’t again for years, and then she was pulling away, and he was raising an eyebrow curiously.

"What was that for?"

"I don't know," she answered, a faint smile curling on her lips. "You're a lot nicer than you would lead people to believe, Hanschen Rilow."

Hanschen laughed quietly into the silence of the night and shook his head. "That stays between us, too. Can't have my reputation ruined." Raising a finger, he poked her side lightly, and she giggled quietly, squirming away from his finger.

Once he had stopped trying to tickle her side, Martha shifted to rest back against his side. She laid her head back on his shoulder, and they let the rest of the night slip away into easy, peaceful silence.


	2. Moritz Stiefel

F reshman year was a really weird time for Hanschen, and admittedly, for the rest of their little group of friends, even the ones, like Martha, Anna, Thea, and Melitta, who hadn't moved to the high school. Things that Hanschen already knew about, and, throughout the previous year, had already started to experiment a little bit with, the rest of his classmates was only just starting to discover. 

A whole group of boys in the midst of a sexual awakening was more than Hanschen could actually bare at any given time, no matter how amusing he found it. Sometimes, there was fun to be found in it, teasing some of the more... unenlightened boys about the urges they just couldn't control; Moritz, Ernst, and Georg, for example, made pretty amusing targets. Especially in gym class. Hanschen was starting to have lingering suspicions about a couple of his friends' sexualities.

It was an issue that Hanschen himself still had, sometimes, though he was becoming very good at hiding it when it... ah, arose at inopportune moments. And, yes, there was absolutely pun intended.

Most days that Hanschen didn't need to go straight home to take care of these 'inopportune moments', he was in the library studying. He didn't like being home, and found every excuse not to go there that he possibly could. Plus, with midterms coming up, he found that he actually needed to study. He might have been top of the class (alongside Melchior Gabor, whom he hated), but he wouldn't stay that way if he didn't put any effort into it. And he really didn’t need his dad on his ass about anything else.

He had his history book open on the library table, and was transferring dates into his notes when a tap on the table startled him from his focus. Looking up, he raised an eyebrow at the disheveled form of Moritz Stiefel standing in front of him.

Setting his pencil down, he leaned back in his chair and signed, "Well, hello, Moritz Stiefel. What can I do for you?", and was astonished when Moritz's cheeks flushed a deep, brilliant red.

"I have a favor to ask," Mortiz answered, and, like so many things that he did, the signs were quick, panicky, agitated. "You don't have to, I know we aren't friends, but you were the only person I thought could help me, and I--"

Hanschen reached out, catching both of Moritz's hands in one of his and pushing them down carefully. "Calm down," he signed, both eyebrows arching into his hairline. "Just ask before you hurt yourself. You can't know I'll say no if you never ask."

Mortiz, as he so often was, was flustered into silence, and all he did for a moment was the equivalent of stammering in sign language, his hands fluttering in front of him for a moment. Finally, cheeks still stained a brilliant red, he managed to sign, "Can you come to my house tomorrow? I can't ask here."

Despite his initial instinct to say no (Mortiz was right, Hanschen didn't particularly like him, and they weren't friends), Hanschen's curiosity had arisen to the point where he couldn't say no if he tried. He needed to know what Mortiz was so jittery about, what he needed Hanschen's help for that he couldn't just ask his best buddy, Melchior Gabor.

"Sure," Hanschen responded after a second. "I'll see you tomorrow."

So, not for the first time in history, Hanschen ended up at Mortiz Stiefel's house the following day. He remembered the house vaguely from the times that he had been there when he was very young, and Moritz had actually been his best friend. That was back before Mortiz had grown close to Melchior Gabor, and Hanschen had grown close to isolation and solitude. And then Moritz had gotten held back a year, putting him and Hanschen in the same year in school, and forcing them to sort of reconnect.

Shaking the thoughts aside, Hanschen followed Moritz to his bedroom on the opposite end of the house and looked around as Moritz closed the door behind them. The room hadn't changed a whole lot in the six years since Hanschen had been there last, and that was actually... pretty sad.

"Why did you want me to come here?" Hanschen signed, cutting straight to the point, turning to face Moritz so that Moritz could see his hands.

"Will you show me how to kiss?" The signs were so fast that Hanschen could barely process them, like Moritz was forcing himself through the motions before he could talk himself out of it. Hanschen blinked once. Twice. And then, for a few seconds, he just sort of held his hands in front of his stomach like he wasn't quite sure what to do with them.

"What?" he finally asked brilliantly, and Moritz blushed deeply.

"I wouldn't ask you if you weren't more experienced than anyone else. I know you don't like me, and you probably don't want to, but I'm sixteen and I've never kissed anyone, and--"

"And you want me to teach you," Hanschen finished. "And you couldn't ask Melchior because...?"

"He's not gay. And he's with Wendla."

Hanschen scoffed and rolled his eyes. Melchior wasn't gay, but he certainly wasn't straight, either, and he needed to get a clue. One that didn't involve sleeping with Wendla Bergmann. But now was not the time to be thinking about that.

"You want me to be your first kiss," he clarified, because he'd been other people's first kisses before, but he knew Moritz, a hopeless romantic at heart, and someone with a genuinely good heart for all of his faults. 

"At least you're a good kisser," Moritz offered. "From what I've been told."

Hanschen rolled his eyes, again, because it felt like the only natural response, and then stepped closer to Moritz. He paused only once more, to clarify yet again, that this was what Mortiz actually wanted, and then, hesitantly, they were kissing.

It was... different. Moritz was clearly inexperienced, it was there in how he didn't really know what to do with his hands or mouth. But his lips were soft, and Hanschen, for all his experience with men who knew more than Moritz did, actually didn't mind kissing him at all.

"Don't be so nervous," Hanschen signed when he pulled back. "Just go with what you feel and try not to use a lot of teeth. There's not really a wrong way to kiss." 

And, though it was timid, Moritz’s lips were very soft as they kissed again. Tentatively, Hanschen wrapped a hand around the back of Moritz’s neck to tilt his head just enough that he could angle the kiss a little more and lick into Mortiz’s mouth.

He had never thought about Moritz in any way short of thinking that he was annoying and not very bright, but he was a young boy who had already found that he enjoyed sex. And Moritz wasn’t a bad kisser by any right, and Hanschen’s body was… responding.

Abruptly, he pulled away, pushing him back with a frown. “I--” he began, and then his hands just sort of flailed in front of him for a moment. “I think you’re good. You definitely don’t need me. I’ve got to go.”

He was out of the house before Moritz could argue with him, and then home faster even than that, locked in his bedroom. If Melchior ever got a clue about Moritz, he would end up being a very lucky guy.


	3. Wendla Bergmann

Hanschen could feel the blood thundering in his ears as he stormed into the cafeteria of the school. He was pretty sure his vision was tinted red at the edges, but he didn't care. He had never been quite as pissed off in his life as he was right now. Wendla was close behind him, and he knew that she wanted him to stop, but he wasn't going to. And she should have known that when she told him what had happened, so really, she couldn't blame him.

Pushing his way through the people in the cafeteria, Hanschen found Melchior Gabor sitting with Ernst, Moritz, Anna, Martha, and Ilse. "Stand up," he ordered in a dark voice when he's standing face-to-face with Melchior, and he wasn't signing, which explained the confused looks from Ernst, Moritz, and Martha, but he didn't care. He was too pissed to care. 

Melchior, who had been in the midst of saying something, looked equally as confused. "What?"

"Stand up," Hanschen repeated, and as soon as Melchior did, Hanschen punched him as hard as he could in the jaw. Silence fell in the cafeteria as everyone's attention seemed to be drawn to Hanschen and Melchior, the former of whom didn't care even a little bit.

"What the fuck?" Melchior demanded, raising his hand to his jaw.

"You are a deplorable human being," Hanschen seethed, fury burning in his gut like an out-of-control wildfire. "I have never liked you, and this is why."

"Hanschen, calm down," Anna began, but Hanschen held up a hand to silence her, his eyes still fixated on Melchior, who was stammering for words. Melchior Gabor, who usually knew what to say all the time, even when no one was listening.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Melchior finally demanded.

"You almost get Wendla pregnant, but you can't face your own mistakes, so instead of being a man, you dump her?" Hanschen snapped, and he heard both Anna and Ilse gasp at the admission. Apparently, Wendla hadn't told them about that yet, but Hanschen couldn't bring himself to care. Maybe it was a good thing that they all knew Melchior Gabor was a terrible human being.

"You don't know what you're talking about ," Melchior replied, though his face had paled, and it took everything in Hanschen not to punch him again for being an idiot.

"Yeah, actually, I do. She's a sweet, innocent kid who was a virgin when she met you, so you can't fucking tell me that it wasn't you, and that you weren't just using her for sex, anyway. You fucking prick. You're damn lucky that it was just a pregnancy scare, and she's not, or I would have fucking castrated you for doing that to her. Did you use protection? Did you warn her at all? No? Of course you didn't, because you're a selfish jackass who doesn't care about anyone but yourself, and both she, and Moritz need to move the fuck on from you, because they deserve the world, and you deserve to rot in the pits of hell."

Melchior stammered and stuttered for a moment, going red-faced, but Hanschen was distracted from it by a hand on his arm, and the slender little form of Wendla Bergmann pushing between them. She didn't know any of what he'd said to Melchior, because he hadn't bothered to sign any of it, but she could probably infer enough from the look on both of their faces. Gently, she laced their fingers together and tugged Hanschen out of the cafeteria and into the empty hallway.

"You didn't have to do that," she signed, raising an eyebrow at him, her lower lip pushed out in a pout.

"I know I didn't have to," he signed back, shrugging a shoulder. "But someone did."

"Hansi," she began, but he shook his head, cutting her off.

"No, Wendla, stop. You're sweet and innocent and you deserve more than Melchior Gabor. He's trash. You and Moritz both need to realize that. He's a terrible person, and that's coming from me."

Wendla didn't react for a few long seconds, staring at him curiously, and Hanschen sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. He knew she was probably offended by his insinuating that she had bad taste (she did), but he wasn't going to take it back. He hated Melchior Gabor, and he always had. For a reason. Now other people were going to start realizing what Hanschen had always known.

Finally, once the lack of response had gotten uncomfortable, Wendla moved, but it wasn't to sign anything. She laid her hand on Hanschen's cheek and pushed up onto her toes, pressing her lips to his softly. 

Hanschen was still for a beat, unsure of how to react. Wendla's lips were soft, and she was small and delicate and all of that was nice, but he'd never thought of Wendla like that. He had been so sure that she'd never thought of him that way, either. He wasn't even really sure what this was supposed to mean, his heart fluttering just a little. He let her linger there until she pulled away, kissing back very, very gently. He wasn't going to take advantage of her vulnerability.

"You know," he signed carefully, "you're not exactly helping my opinion on your terrible taste in men."

Wendla giggled and shoved Hanschen's shoulder lightly, prompting a smile to form on Hanschen's face. "I don't think I want to date you," she signed back, smiling at him, and he felt irrational relief instead of offense. Wendla deserved someone light and loving, like she was, not jaded and closed off, like he was. She'd find that, but she wouldn't get it by looking at him. "You're just very sweet sometimes, Hanschen."

Hanschen scoffed, rolling his eyes. It was more fond than he was willing to admit. "Don't tell anyone," he replied, and she giggled again, kissing his cheek with a small smile.

"Thank you, Hansi," she signed, turning to walk away.

Hanschen watched her go, shaking his head. It really seemed that sweet, innocent people like Moritz, Martha, and Wendla were going to be the death of him, and he wasn't sure why, but he was pretty okay with it.


	4. Marianna (Anna) Wheelin

Prom.  
Just the thought of it was enough to make Hanschen want to drink himself into a coma. People dancing and laughing and having fun at a stupid dance with shitty pop music? Not his kind of thing. But Wendla, Anna, and Ernst had asked, and more or less begged, puppy-dog eyes and all, that he go with their group of friends, and he just couldn't say no to all three of them. He'd tried. He'd failed.  
So he found himself at prom, with the prom group, standing by the punch table and sipping terrible tasting artificial strawberry punch. Most of the group was dancing. Badly. Then again, most of them were deaf and couldn't actually hear the music, but they didn't seem to care. Wendla was dancing with Moritz, Thea and Melitta with Georg and Otto respectively (which Hanschen kept a careful eye on), and the rest were just sort of in a group circle. The only one not with them was Anna.  
"Why aren't you with your friends?" Hanschen leaned down to ask, close to her ear so she could hear him, when he finally found the pretty blonde.  
"Can't really dance in a wheelchair," Anna replied blandly, and she sounded a little bitter, which was so unlike her. Hanschen had never heard her be bitter about the wheelchair she was confined to. "Most guys won't dance with me, anyway. The chair turns them off."  
Hanschen frowned, staring at her. He couldn't fathom that anyone would be turned off by Marianna Wheelin, who was one of the most beautiful girls in the school, especially tonight. Her dress was gold, cut off at her knees, and her hair was done up in braids, pulled back into a bun. She wasn't even wearing that much make up and still looked stunning.  
He probably could have told her all of that, but she wouldn't have believed him, and he wasn't really the type to offer comfort. Instead, he pulled a flask out of his tux jacket. "Do you want to help me with a prank?" he asked, and she grinned. Mission accomplished.  
Needless to say, less than half an hour later, Anna was drunk, as they had succeeded in pouring the flask of vodka into the punch bowl. It had done nothing to help the taste of the punch, but it had definitely helped the moods of everyone involved. Hanschen, who hadn't actually drank anything, was monitoring Anna closely. She was a bit of a... depressed drunk. It was a little before midnight when he decided that it was probably time to take her home.  
She made it the entire drive back to her house without saying anything-- or throwing up, which Hanschen was grateful for. He didn't want to have to clean puke out of his car, again. It was only once he'd parked his car outside of her house that she finally spoke up, voice more timid than Hanschen was used to. Anna was loud, abrasive, and confident, and that was why Hanschen liked her so much. This was all very different.  
"Am I ugly?" she asked, and Hanschen blanched.  
"What?" he demanded.  
"Guys don't like me," she explained. "Even you've never made a pass at me, and you're kind of a ho."  
Hanschen's lips twitched into a smirk. It wasn't funny, but it was accurate, and he wasn't going to lie about it. "Fair. I've never made a pass at you, because you deserve better. You're not ugly, Anna, you're gorgeous. Let me get you inside."  
Anna's parents weren't home, which was lucky, because Hanschen didn't want to explain to them why he was bringing their daughter home drunk. Hanschen had enough of a repuation to know where they would think that was going. It was a mess better off avoided all together, and Hanschen was exceedingly grateful that he was able to carry Anna to her bedroom and lay her down in her bed.  
He went back to his car to get her chair, and when he came back, she was under the blankets in her bed, and her dress was tossed haphazerdly into a corner of the bedroom. Setting her chair in the corner, he glanced around the room. It was very pink, he noted with a small grin. Something he hadn't really expected of Anna, but it seemed to suit her, anyway.  
"Hanschen?"  
"Yes, dear?"  
"Will you stay for a while? I don't want to be alone."  
Hanschen glanced at Anna, who was looking at him with big blue eyes and a pout, and exhaled a sigh, though it was more affectionate than annoyed. He crossed the room and sat on the bed with her, taking her hand in his. "What brought this on tonight, Anna? You know you're one of the most beautiful girls in this town."  
"That's why I'm still single?" Anna responded with an arched eyebrow.  
"You're still single because every guy in this town knows I would kick their ass if I thought you deserved better. And you do. Better than anyone in this town, because you're a fucking queen, and they're all lowly peasants who should be worshiping at your feet. Don't you ever doubt that."  
Anna smiled and used his arm to pull herself up into a sitting position, leaning against him. "Wendla's right, you are a sweetheart."  
"Oh, please," he responded with a roll of his eyes. "I'm an asshole and a ho, and I'm very proud of both of those facts." But he was smiling fondly, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.  
"Yes, you are. But you can be very sweet sometimes."  
"Only if I like you. And I happen to like you. And Wendla."  
"And Martha," Anna prompted lightly, and Hanschen sighed.  
"Yeah, most of the girls," he admitted. "And Ernst. Moritz, sometimes. But don't tell him that, I'd never live it down."  
"Why are you single, Hanschen?" Anna asked, tilting her head so she could look at him. "You obviously have a heart, hidden though it may be. You could be a really great boyfriend."  
"We revist the fact that I'm a ho," Hanschen replied, though something tugged at his heart at the question. He was single for a lot of reasons. Relationships had never really worked out for him in the past. No one really knew about the details of it, because Hanschen didn't talk about it much. And now, well. There was only one person he really wanted to be in a relationship with, and he knew that that wasn't going to happen.  
"Well, you'd be a great boyfriend to someone."  
"Are you asking me to be your boyfriend, Marianna Wheelin? Because I already told you, you deserve better than me."  
Anna rolled her eyes, and then she was turning to face him. "No, asshole, I'm not. You and I would be a terrible couple, no matter how cute you are."  
"Aww, you think I'm cute."  
Anna elbowed him, and he laughed in return. And then, like seemed to be far too common with him anymore, her lips were pressed to his. His brain seemed to short-circuit, because really? Martha, Wendla, and now Anna? He was kind of nice to a girl for one whole night, and they thought kissing him was the proper response? That was a really sad statement on how nice guys had been to them in the past.  
Unlike the other two, though, Anna didn't pull away right away, and Hanschen was still a man who, for several years now, greatly enjoyed the physical pleasures in life. So he sighed internally, closing his eyes so he could kiss back softly. As much as he knew a lot of this was the alcohol, he hadn't actually kissed anyone in longer than he was willing to admit.  
It only took a few seconds for his mind to remind him that he couldn't do this. He pushed Anna back gently and exhaled a small sigh. "I can't do that, Anna," he told her carefully. "You're so drunk, and I refuse to take advantage of that. I'm not Melchior."  
"Would you? If I hadn't been drinking?"  
Hanschen had to stop and actually think about it. The answer was yes. Probably. Anna was gorgeous, and he wouldn't hesitate to have sex with her. Except... "No," he admitted with a small sigh, frowning to himself. "I wouldn't. Because I tell you constantly, you deserve better. If we slept together, that would be all it was. Sex. And you deserve better than that. You're great, Anna, and I adore you, endlessly. I'm not going to be that guy, not with you."  
Anna stared at him, silent for a moment. "You really will be a great boyfriend to someone." She laid down then, laying his head on his chest. "You're still going to stay here, you promised."  
"Yes, ma'am," Hanschen replied, and he slid down the bed, curling his arms around her with a small smile. These girls. They were just too much for him.


	5. Melchior Gabor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is going to become a full-length AU fic sometime.

"I have a problem," Melchior announced, walking into the library and sitting down with Hanschen like Hanschen actually cared about him or his problems.

"I do, too," Hanschen replied, glancing up from his notes with a frown. "It's about five foot eight and sitting right in front of me. Go away."

"First of all," Melchior replied, instead of just walking away, and Hanschen had to repress an exapserated sigh, "that's rude--"

"Because I don't like you," Hanschen interrupted, and Melchior promptly ignored him, continuing on like Hanschen hadn't spoken.

"Second of all, I need your help with this problem."

Hanshcen didn't bother to repress the heavy, and clearly annoyed sigh this time, shutting his notebook and his Chemistry II textbook with a thud. "I don't like you," he repeated clearly and distinctly, offering no room for misinterpretation. "What the hell makes you think I want to help you?"

"Because it'll boost your massive ego," Melchior replied with a smug smirk.

"My massive ego," Hanschen repeated with a snort. "That's rich, Gabor. But I'll admit, you've caught my attention." He crossed his arms, tilting his head slightly. "What do you want?"

"It's come to my attention that everyone in this school seems to think you're the best kisser," Melchior informed Hanschen, and Hanschen couldn't help the smug smirk that crossed his own face at that. "I want to know what the hype is, because I've kissed several of the same people you have, and I refuse to believe you're a better kisser than I am."

"And what was that about my massive ego?" Hanschen asked, otherwise ignoring the fact that he was pretty sure that Melchior just said he wanted to kiss him.

"Shut up, Rilow, this is serious."

"It's not, actually," Hanschen replied with a shake of his head, re-opening his Chemistry textbook. He was not going to indulge this stupidity. "I'm a better kisser than you, and I'm not going to make out with you to prove it. I'd like to revisit how much I don't like you. Now, leave me alone, I have a Chem test to study for and you're as distracting as you are annoying."

"You don't want the chance to prove to me that you're better than me?" Melchior prompted, and Hanschen's eyebrow arched.

"I prove I'm better than you everyday. Don't you have innocent girls to go almost impregnate?"

"Wendla's forgiven me for that, you should, too," Melchior scoffed, and Hanschen rolled his eyes.

"I'd rather just punch you again."

"You're a dick."

"Noted. Leave me alone." He didn't look up, though he heard the chair at the table move, and the footsteps that said Melchior had walked away, exhaling a sigh of relief. 

He should have known better than to know that it was over. Melchior was insufferable, and tended to not give up until he got what he wanted. It came back into focus when they were at some party at Ilse's house that Friday, and Melchior approached Hanschen with a beer in his hand. Hanschen, who was leaning against the wall and signing with Otto about how terrible of a gym unit racquetball was, took a long drink from his own beer, having a feeling that he was most definitely going to need it.

"What?" he asked blandly, and Melchior raised an eyebrow.

"Are you ever not going to hate me?"

"No." The answer came without any sort of hesitation.

"You know I've changed a lot since we were kids, right?" Melchior asked, and Hanschen exhaled an exasperated sigh. 

"I am aware, yes," he agreed. "What do you want?"

"To revisit the thing we talked about in the library."

Hanschen shifted against the wall, barely resisting the urge to bash his head against it. Melchior really was too stubborn for his own good. He didn't know how or why any of their friends put up with it. And the saddest point was, really, that he didn't actually hate Melchior as much as he acted like he did. He just couldn't allow anyone to know that, or he would never live it down.

"You want to kiss me."

"I want to know why everyone seems to think you're such an amazing kisser."

Hanschen rolled his eyes and set his beer down on a nearby table, crossing his arms over his chest. "Because I'm an amazing kisser. I'm starting to think you just want an excuse to make out with me."

"Please," Melchior snorted. "You're not my type."

"Too experienced?" Hanschen quipped, and Melchior's expression fell flat. It was probably below the belt to keep bringing that up, and yeah, Melchior really had changed, but Hanschen couldn't just let it go. That wasn't his style. 

"Fuck off, Rilow."

"You're literally the one that won't leave me alone, even when I'm begging you, so you should probably actually fuck off."

"Why does anyone like you? You're fucking insufferable."

"I've been asking myself the same thing about you since we were in middle school," Hanschen responded blandly, but somehow, they were now in each other's personal space. Melchior was taller than Hanschen, he noted with some annoyance, though he knew he was still stronger than the other.

"At least I didn't stop growing in middle school," Melchior replied, and Hanschen scoffed.

"At least I didn't stop maturing in middle school," came his retort, and he was aware that some people were staring at them, but this... this was honestly kind of fun. He had never really talked to Melchior enough to know how much fun fucking with him like this could be. "Honestly, that was such a sixth grade response. I can't believe you're the top of our class."

"Jealous?"

"Hardly."

There was a moment of silence as they both seemed to realize how close they'd actually gotten, their bodies almost touching. After a moment of debating, Hanschen decided, fuck it. He was only going to be a high school student once. So he wrapped his hand around the back of Melchior's neck and pulled him down the few inches in their height, pressing their lips together firmly.

A couple people wolf-whistled, and Hanschen rolled his eyes internally, as his eyes, externally, were closed. Melchior tasted like cheap beer, and he smelled a little like a faint, expensive cologne. It took him a second to respond, but when he did, Hanschen was... pleasantly surprised. Melchior seemed physically awkward and not very in tune with his body, but he kissed the way he did most things; precise, educated, calculated. 

In short, Melchior was actually a very good kisser, so if anyone was saying that Hanschen was a better kisser than he was, Hanschen had every reason to feel smug. 

They stayed like that for a couple seconds, kissing like they weren't surrounded by people, like they didn't go at each other's throats on a regular basis. And then Melchior broke the kiss, blinking a couple times.

"Huh," he said brilliantly, and Hanschen scoffed. "You're a pretty good kisser, Rilow. Can't say I'm disappointed."

"You're not bad," Hanschen admitted, and that was probably the closest thing Hanschen would ever give Melchior to a compliment.

Melchior laughed, actually laughed, and Hanschen watched as the corners of his eyes crinkled a little. Huh. Melchior was actually cute when he wasn't being a dick. Interesting. He wasn't sure how he hadn't noticed that before. "You know," Melchior began, raising an eyebrow, "there are a lot of other rumors about things that you're good at."

Hanschen blinked, stunned, and then he felt a familiar heat curling in his stomach. One that he never thought he'd feel when it pertained to Melchior Gabor. "What are you suggesting, Gabor?"

"Bedroom?"

Hanschen was almost stunned speechless. He glanced at Ilse, who was sort of smirking, and then tilted her head, as if to say, 'If you must'. He was glad Ernst wasn't there, because he had barely gotten over Ernst, knowing that the two of them would never happen. And with Ilse's (kind of) blessing, and that knowledge, he found himself nodding.

"Yeah, bedroom."


End file.
